Cosby Sweater

I can just picture it like it was yesterday. The whole family and I sitting around our huge 19" color TV with the remote attached via wire (goes against the definition of remote but whatevs) all snuggled up waiting for the best show on Thursday nights to come on. That's right, The Cosby Show. Bill, his wife, um Rudy, let's see, I think there was a Monisha in there, maybe a Denise, the son, Boner, Mike Seaver, Norm, David Letterman, whatever-there was a shit-ton of kids running around that rape-den. Little did we know then that this fuckstick had made a living out of drugging women and putting his pudding pop where it doesn't belong. Look, I don't want to get off on a rant here but if you need the help of sleeping pills/date rape drugs and the like to get laid, you got serious problems son! I am not one to judge. If creeping up on an unconscious chick and having your way with her is your bag, I'm sure you could convince some willing streetwalker to pretend she's passed out while you let your Jello-mold harden. But to do that to unsuspecting chicks without their consent? That's just plain scumbag shit. You may not be the best when it comes to talking to the ladies but fellas, that's what Slumpbusters are for. Am I right? So put away your strange-tasting glass of white wine and leave the raping to where it belongs-in low level, maximum security prisons. But I digress...